Watching Me Fall
by doranobaka
Summary: It started simply as a bad day for Harry Potter. Now it seems that someone has hatched a plot to poison him, and they've almost succeeded. (SLASH)
1. Chapter One

**A/N:** Just a few notes to start out with --  
  
First, this fanfic was heavily inspired by Lest I Wither, which can be found in my favorite stories list, and Falling Further In by KazVL, which can be found at schnoogle dot com. Both of these are fics that I enjoy very much.   
  
Second, this fic begins near the middle of sixth year and is mildly AU. Most of the events in OotP are assumed to have occured except for one.   
  
Third, just so you guys don't think me terribly inconsistant, there _is_ a reason why Professor Lupin is once again the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, which I will address later.   
Fourth, I'm not really sure if I'll stick with this title. Any suggestions are more than welcome. Constructive criticism is also welcome, so long as it's polite. :)   
  
And, finally, this fanfic is likely going to end up being a slash-fic, mostly focusing on HP/SS with mild undertones of RL/SB. You've been warned.   
  
**Watching Me Fall**  
by dora   
  
It did not take a genius to see that Harry Potter was having a very bad day.   
  
At first, he wrote it off as simply getting too little sleep and wearing wet clothes too long after a Quidditch practice which rightly ought to have been cancelled due to the squall (which really was too nice a word for the torrential rain which bordered on sleet and the viscious wind). The practice had been on a Tuesday evening, but now it was Friday evening and Harry felt even worse than before. None of the other Gryffindor team members seemed to have been fazed, least of all Ron, who was currently teaching Colin Creevey some of the finer points of chess downstairs in the common room, so it seemed unlikely that the terrible practice conditions were to blame.   
  
Harry grabbed the sweater Mrs. Weasley had made him for Christmas a while back and slipped it on over the rest of the clothes he was wearing. It seemed to help his shivering a little. "Well," he muttered to himself, "I guess I've gone and caught a plain old muggle cold." He sighed and flopped back onto his bed. "Five years without any problem and _now_ I go and get sick. Just brilliant."   
  
For a few minutes, he laid there on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his dorm room. He might even have begun to doze if Ron hadn't stormed in and pulled him off the bed and down the stairs. "C'mon, Harry! Hermione's been waiting on us for ten minutes, and she looks right angry about it."   
  
"Er, what?"   
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "Dinner! You weren't planning on skipping eating, were you?"   
  
"Uh..." mumbled Harry. "Well, I hadn't given dinner much thought. I was sort of hoping to get some sleep."   
  
His friend paused and favored him with a worried look. "Yeah, you don't look so good, mate. Well, just get some soup. It's what Mum'd tell you to do."   
  
The idea of Mrs. Weasley hovering over him, making sure he was fed and hydrated and comfortable caused Harry to smile. "All right. Just because it'd make Mum happy."   
  
They met Hermione at the entrance to the common room, her arms crossed and a sour expression on her face. "It took you both long enough. I have half a mind to leave you right now."   
  
Harry leaned in and whispered, "What's her problem?"   
  
Ron sighed and whispered back, "Didn't you hear? Viktor dumped her by owl this morning. Jeez, mate, you must be really out of it." To Hermione, he said, "Sorry, sorry. Harry's feeling under the weather is all."   
  
This took the edge off of Hermione's expression. "It's all right. Should we take him to see Madame Pomfrey after dinner? I'm sure she has something for colds."   
  
"Nah. I don't really feel like having my ears smoke all weekend, esepcially since all I really need is sleep," Harry replied. "And maybe some soup. Let's go."   
  
It did not take Harry very long to realize that going to the Great Hall and trying to eat dinner was a serious mistake. Almost as soon as he sat down, his stomach started doing flip-flops, and it was a struggle to keep from spitting out his juice. Only five minutes after arriving, Harry excused himself and left before either of his friends could ask what was wrong.   
  
He stumbled down the hall, his teeth clenched in an effort to keep the scant contents of his stomach from coming back up. The chills, which had only been minor until this point, threatened to overtake him. In fact, he shook so badly that he eventually had to sit down before he simply collapsed.   
  
Unfortunately, once he was sitting on and leaning against the cold stone, he felt his chills more acutely. No matter how he struggled, though, Harry could not get his legs underneath him, nor could he steady them long enough for him to even stand. Finally, he settled for clutching his knees to his chest and hoping his shivering would subside on its own.   
  
About half an hour later, Ron and Hermione found him huddled in a corner and seemingly asleep. When they tried to wake him so they could all return to Gryffindor tower, however, his eyes barely fluttered and Hermione noticed how cold and clammy his skin was. She sent Ron to retrieve Madame Pomfrey while she looked after Harry and tried desperately to wake him up.   
  
---   
  
Severus Snape did not take kindly to being woken up at-- he glanced at the pocket watch he'd set on his nightstand-- three-fifteen in the morning, and he took even less kindly to being woken up at three-fifteen on a _Saturday_ morning. He climbed out of bed with a snarl and shrugged on a simple black robe over his night clothes. "For the love of God, Albus, come in and stop that incessant knocking! I'm awake already!"   
  
When he stepped into his study, Albus Dumbledore stood before the fire, a terribly haggard look on his face. When he saw Snape, though, he smiled just a little. "Ah, good to see you, my dear boy."   
  
Snape snorted. "What do you want, Albus? If this isn't an emergency I'll be forced to hex you into next year."   
  
The headmaster's face sobered immediately. "Indeed, I fear this is a grave emergency."   
  
Before he could continue, Snape interrupted him, "Oh, joy. What has that brat Potter or one of his equally bratty friends done now?"   
  
"I fear Harry has fallen quite ill," Dumbledore replied.   
  
One of Snape's eyebrows rose just a hair. "As I recall, that's what you hired Poppy for."   
  
Albus nodded solemnly. "It's true, but we're at our wit's end."   
  
The eyebrow crept up a little more. "'We?'"   
  
"Yes. When Poppy couldn't find the cause of Harry's illness, much less do anything to sooth its symptoms, she asked me to summon Professor Lupin--" the muscle just underneath Snape's right eye twitched at the mention of that name, "-- and Professor Flitwick to see if perhaps he was under the influence of some sort of charm or hex. Neither of them turned up anything, of course."   
  
"Of course," Snape muttered drily. "What else did you do, then?"   
  
Dumbledore sighed, "Well, after that we called for Professor Sprout. Poppy thought, and I agreed with her, that perhaps some plant or another on the grounds could have caused this. We gave her a list of his observed symptoms, with which she absconded back to her office. She only returned a short while ago, saying that none of the plant life either on the grounds, in her greenhouse, or even at the edge of the Forbidden Forest should have caused such a reaction." The headmaster took a deep breath. "So here we are."   
  
"Ah," said Snape, unable to find some sort of venomous retort. "I suppose you think that this is some sort of potion or poison?"   
  
"Well," Albus replied evenly, "of the obvious possible causes for this illness, it's the only one we haven't ruled out. If you can't find anything, though, we'll have no choice to admit him to St. Mungo's."   
  
"That idea certainly has merit," Snape mumbled, not quite caring if Albus heard him or not.   
  
Albus did hear, however, and he heaved a very tired sigh. "Severus, please. I'm asking you this not as your employer, but as your friend. Could you set aside your grudge against the Potter family and lend us your expertise? I would rather find the cause of his illness and treat him here as discreetly as possible."   
  
"Fine. I will do as you ask. But that does not mean I have to like my task, the Potter brat, or anyone else associated with that wretched family." He glowered at Albus when the man insisted on standing in his study. "Well, go on. I'll be there in a few minutes. I do not feel like greeting the rest of the staff and working in naught but my night clothes and a bathrobe."   
  
The headmaster nodded as he headed for the door. "Please hurry, Severus. Things do not look particularly encouraging." Then he was gone.   
  
As Snape had promised, it only took a few extra minutes to put on decent clothes and find his way to the infirmary. He was rather pleased that most of the people Albus had named seemed to have dispersed; the only staff in attendance were Poppy (for obvious reasons), Remus (the muscle under his eye twitched again as his gaze passed over the werewolf), and Albus (who looked more worried than Severus had ever seen him).   
  
And, of course, at the center of it all, was Potter, tucked into one of the beds and looking absolutely terrible. His skin was pale, covered in sweat, and taking on a slightly green tinge. Every once in a while he would shudder convulsively, at which point Remus would lay a hand on his forehead and whisper soothing things until he stilled again. For a very brief moment, what remained of Severus's heart went out to the rather pitiful-looking pair.   
  
That instant passed, and Snape settled into a brusque and professional mentality. "Where is the list of his symptoms?" he inquired in as polite a tone as he could manage so early. Madame Pomfrey looked up at him as though she were startled by his presence, but she did not hesitate to pass him a decently sized parchment covered in her loopy writing. Without looking up from the list, he shooed Dumbledore and Pomfrey out of his way and took the seat on the other side of Harry's bed.   
  
"This could be any number of things," he finally concluded. Had he not been concentrating on the problem at hand, he might have taken some pleasure from the crestfallen look on Lupin's face. "However, I think we can rule a few things out, as well. If this is, in fact, a potion at work, we can safely assume that unicorn's blood was not involved. If it were, his reaction would have been more severe.   
  
"We can also likely rule out any potion which uses the plants in and around the school, since you already said he isn't exhibiting the symptoms triggered by any of them. Speaking of which, I would very much like a list of those, as well." Madame Pomfrey nodded at Remus, who reluctantly left Harry's side and went to wake Professor Sprout once more.   
  
Severus looked at the list of Harry's symptoms again. "Of course, this is all assuming that we _are_ dealing with some sort of potion, which we have yet to really determine."   
  
"What else could it be?" asked Madame Pomfrey.   
  
"Has anyone considered food poisoning?" retorted Snape with a characteristic sneer. "Or a particularly nasty bout of the flu?"   
  
Albus cleared his throat while Poppy glowered fiercely at Severus. "Do you think I didn't try to treat him for those things? I deal with them on a regular basis, Severus, and I refuse to stand here and let you insult my competence as a mediwitch."   
  
"I apologize," Snape said, and his tone was only slightly sarcastic. "I was merely hoping that this would be something _simple_ and that I could go back to bed before the sun rises." He shook his head. "I don't suppose you took any blood samples I could... er, borrow, did you?"   
  
Satisfied that her co-worker was not calling her abilities into question, Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Yes, of course. Wait just one moment." With that, she walked away from the bed, taking care to close the curtains around it so that he, Harry, and Dumbledore were alone and isolated from the rest of the hospital wing.   
  
After what seemed like forever (but was probably no more than ten minutes), Lupin returned, a rather lengthy scroll in hand. "She says that these are all the species she knows about," he said as he handed the paper to Severus. That done, he reclaimed his seat at Harry's bedside and took one of the boy's hands in both of his.   
  
This elicited a frown from the headmaster. "Do you suppose I should call...?"   
  
"Absolutely not," Lupin replied vehemently. "Not now. If things get worse..." He trailed off, clearly not wanting to pursue that train of thought any further.   
  
Severus set aside the list of Harry's symptoms, once that exchange had finished, and began studying the list of known plant life on the school grounds. He was barely a quarter of the way through skimming the list when Poppy returned with four small vials, each filled with a dark red liquid. "If you need all of it, you may have it," she said, "but I would prefer to have at least one vial, just in case."   
  
"That's fine," Snape said, nodding gratefully. "Two of them will be more than enough." With a curt nod in return, Madame Pomfrey left two of the vials in Severus's care and disappeared again (presumably to put the remaining two back where she kept them).   
  
By the time she'd returned, Harry had begun to toss fitfully in his bed. No amount of soft words from Lupin seemed to help, and the werewolf seemed quite close to tears because of it. Finally, the boy seemed to seize up, every muscle in his body going taught. His eyes snapped open (Severus noted that they were extremely dilated, a symptom which had not been on the list), and he sat up, gasping.   
  
Naturally, Albus and that damned werewolf took this opportunity to fawn over him. Severus took that as his cue to leave.   
  
He considered leaving unannounced, but then realized that the boy might mention something important while he was awake. So he very politely tapped the headmaster on the shoulder to indicate that he intended to leave.   
  
"Don't worry, we'll make note of anything that happens," Dumbledore said. "I just ask that you hurry, Severus."   
  
Snape sighed. "I shall try. But only for you, Albus." Then, he left, black robes swishing behind him as he stalked off.   
  
**TBC**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N:** My thanks goes to Telophase, who has been very helpful in ironing out some inconsistancies in this fic. I also want to thank Apis and Poe for encouraging me to write so much in one sitting as well as helping me with Snape's characterization.   
  
I am only barely familiar with Latin, so please forgive any inconsistancies there. In fact, if you are knowledgeable, _please_ feel free to correct me when I need it. :D   
  
**Watching Me Fall**  
by dora   
  
Seven o'clock found Severus Snape in the dungeons hovering over a small cauldron of simmering blood. In one hand, he held a cup of strong tea, and in the other he held the list of forty or so potions he'd decided could be the culprit. Already he'd marked fifteen off the list after he'd finished going through the catalogue of Hogwarts's plants. He was hoping that he might be able to distill some of the potion from Potter's blood; tracing even two or three components from it would be of great help at this point, though he dared not hope he would get a complete sample.   
  
By seven thirty, Albus Dumbledore had picked his way through the confusing dungeon halls and quite cheerfully invited himself into Severus's work-space. He held a scrap of parchment. "Good morning, my boy," he greeted brightly.   
  
Snape cringed. "You sound like you got sleep last night," he replied dourly.   
  
"Not in the slightest," said Dumbledore.   
  
"Ah. There's no rest for the wicked, I suppose." Severus sighed. "Tell me what's been happening."   
  
"We only just put Harry back to bed an hour ago; Remus is staying with him, at least for the moment. Nothing terribly exciting happened, but we did gather a little more information about Harry's affliction." The headmaster smiled and handed Severus the slip of paper, which was covered in tight script (Lupin's, he guessed).   
  
"This started last Tuesday?" Severus seemed absolutely appalled. "Good lord. Whatever this is has been in his system for that long? Who knows what damage it could have done." Dumbledore nodded gravely in agreement and urged the potions master to read on. "Yes, I knew about the dilated pupils, I saw that before I left. His breathing's become labored and his body temperature has started fluctuating?" Again, Dumbledore nodded. "And he complains of headache-- which doesn't really tell me much-- and a tingling in his extremities."   
  
"I know; it's not that encouraging."   
  
Severus shook his head. "Not at all. But it narrows down my list." He bent over the parchment on which he'd written the potions and carefully scratched through seven more. "Twenty-one left," he grumbled. Setting down the quill, he checked the cauldron, which he promptly took off the flame.   
  
"What are you doing?" the headmaster inquired, seeming to be honestly curious.   
  
Severus slipped on a single glove made of an exquisitely supple dragon's hide. "All the liquid in Potter's blood has boiled off," he said, assuming the tone he used for lectures. "It's my hope that some of what's left will be components of the potion. And, if I am extremely lucky, there might be residue of the potion as a whole. However, that is about as likely as Neville Longbottom taking over my job."   
  
"But Mister Longbottom hasn't melted any cauldrons for at least a year," Dumbledore chimed in.   
  
"He just did last week."   
  
"Oh. How terrible." Albus didn't seem at all fazed by Longbottom's ineptitude. Instead, he watched Severus as he carefully pushed the powder out of the cauldron and onto a piece of what appeared to be bleached paper with his gloved fingers.   
  
He pulled out his wand with the other hand and lightly tapped the paper with it. "Reverto."   
  
Before their eyes, the small pile of powder separated itself into four distinct sections. One was composed almost entirely of iron and iron oxide; one was made of a fine, crystalline powder which refracted the light in odd directions; one was a thick substance which might be liquid under the right circumstances; and the final one was simply a thorn.   
  
"Well," said Severus after a few moments of silence, "that was certainly educational."   
  
"I know all twelve uses for dragon's blood," Dumbledore said, seeming to be more than slightly miffed.   
  
"I should hope you do," Severus agreed, peeling the glove off his hand and replacing it on the shelf. Albus simply glared at him before continuing.   
  
"I know all twelve uses for dragon's blood, and this is not one of them."   
  
The potions master made a disgusted face as he peered at the other two ingredients. "It seems that someone has invented a thirteenth use for the substance. This looks to be crushed quartz, but I'll have to ask someone to identify the thorn for me."   
  
Albus nodded and plucked the thorn off the paper. "I shall give this to Professor Sprout post haste."   
  
"Please, do," Severus agreed. "And tell her I would appreciate the identification as soon as possible." He didn't even bother to see the headmaster out; instead he bent over his list of possible potions. For a moment he considered scratching them all out, since none of them included dragon's blood. But the moment passed, and he simply crossed out those which did not contain quartz powder or any sort of plant matter.   
  
That only left ten. He supposed that cutting the list in half was more than he'd hoped for, but it still left him in a very uncomfortable situation. None of the remaining ten potions were particularly pleasant, and at least three of them required immediate treatment lest the damage it did be permanent or even fatal.   
  
"Damnation," he snarled, tossing the list aside. All this trouble (again) for someone he came very close to loathing, only because he felt he owed Albus Dumbledore an incredible debt. It was enough to give any man a headache. Fortunately, Severus did not consider himself to be 'any man,' so it only resulted in a slight twinge near the bridge of his wickedly hooked nose, which he pinched gingerly.   
  
Before he realized what he was doing (beyond getting away from the stench of cooked blood which had only just now begun to bother him), he found himself making his way to the hospital wing. He heaved a long-suffering sigh. Perhaps the brat was awake and could give him more information.   
  
When he looked about, there seemed to be no sign of anyone except for whomever was behind the curtain with Potter. Snape checked his pocket watch to find the time to be a quarter past eight. Poppy had probably gone to eat some breakfast while Potter seemed stable. He shrugged to himself; what Poppy did was none of his business. Right now he need only worry about keeping the brat alive, if only because Albus had asked it of him.   
  
Without making any noise, Severus stalked to the lone curtained-off bed and slipped inside. As he'd suspected, Remus was still there, holding the boy's hand, but he seemed to have dozed off. Potter himself, however, seemed to be awake and, if not totally alert, then mostly lucid. His eyes were still horribly dilated and had a peculiar sheen to them, but his complexion was now that of someone in the throes of fever.   
  
Severus sat in the chair he'd occupied only four hours ago. "I was told that you were asleep," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The boy turned to him (he had been staring at Remus since Snape sat down) and squinted blearily at him.   
  
"Can't sleep," Harry said tersely once he discerned to whom exactly he was speaking. His voice was awfully hoarse, as though he'd been screaming for some time. "Headache. Hard to breath sometimes." He let out a long shuddering breath, and the expression on his face led Snape to believe that he was giving something great consideration. "I don't want to die... without Sirius here," he finally whispered.   
  
For a second time, Severus felt pity for the boy and his werewolf, and it was because of this that his next comments were not as biting as he'd meant them to be. "I don't know where you get off thinking you're going to die, Mister Potter. Despite how fervently Voldemort wishes you dead, I do not intend to simply hand him his fondest dream on a silver platter. You have the entire staff of Hogwarts running around like idiots trying to fix whatever's wrong with you. And that flea-bitten mutt is _not_ going to come here."   
  
Harry simply stared at him, a shocked look on his face. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to form _some_ sort of reply, but before any sound would emerge, he was once again overcome by the chills. All the color drained from his face, leaving it looking ashen and terribly sallow.   
  
When Lupin felt Harry's hand leave his, he sat bolt upright. "Harry, what's wrong?"   
  
"C-c-c-cold," the boy managed through chattering teeth.   
  
Remus wasted no time climbing into the bed and pulling Harry as close as he could. He pressed his hand to the boys forehead in an effort to brush away the hair that was plastered there with sweat and hissed at what he felt. "Severus, help me!" he pleaded.   
  
The potions master did not say a word. Instead, he laid one hand on Harry's forehead and grimaced. "Ice and water. The boy should not be this hot, and if he stays this way he may die." When no one made any move to go anywhere, Snape growled, "Get your lycanthropic arse out of that bed and fetch ice _right now_ if you want him to stay alive. The last thing he needs is someone else's body heat."   
  
There was a flash of anger behind Lupin's eyes, but he reluctantly did as he was told. "And fetch Poppy while you're at it. My first aid knowledge only goes so far." Lupin nodded at this, then left, running as though for his life. Though, Snape supposed, Harry's life was as important to him as his own.   
  
Snape turned his attention to the shivering boy on the bed. "Potter, I need you to answer some questions for me." When Harry looked at him, he assumed that meant the boy was willing to at least try. "Can you walk?" A shake of his head; no. "If..." Snape took a moment to swallow his pride and remind himself that he owed Albus, and that keeping this boy alive would go a long way to repaying that debt. "If you were to use me as a crutch, do you think you could hobble to the baths at the other end of this room?"   
  
Harry merely stared at him blankly, which only served to infuriate the man. "Well I can't bloody well _carry_ you!" A few moments later, a nod, and Harry clumsily swung his legs over the side of the bed.   
  
It took several false starts, but Severus managed to guide Harry to a large bath tub with very little incident. Once there, he stripped the boy of the soft cotton pajamas the others must have put him in before putting him to bed, leaving Harry in naught but his underwear. That done, he glowered at Harry. "Get in."   
  
Again, it took a few false starts, but between the both of them, Harry managed to climb into the tub without breaking his neck. Snape did not stop to let him get comfortable, though. As soon as the boy was in the tub, he reached over and turned on the taps. The boy yelped at the chill of the water (which was really only lukewarm at worst) and tried to scoot away from it.   
  
This only caused Snape to glower even more. "Stay where you are and move as little as you can manage. I don't know how long your temperature has been this high, but considering that Lupin has probably been asleep the whole time he was left with you, I'd be willing to bet that it's a while. This water will help bring your temperature down before any permanent damage occurs." He narrowed his eyes. "Is that clear, Potter?"   
  
Sullenly, Harry nodded. "Good. Now for God's sake, _where_ is Poppy Pomfrey?"   
  
There was no reply, though a house elf ventured near with a bucket full of ice charmed to keep from melting and a tall glass of water. At least Lupin had done that much, Severus mused. He turned off the taps, satisfied that there was enough water in the tub, then took the glass and held it in front of Harry. "I doubt you're capable enough to hold this on your own, so I will do that for you. However, I will need your cooperation, since I cannot make you swallow." Once again, Harry nodded. When he turned his head to face his potions professor, Severus noted grimly how pale he was, how his eyes had gone from being overly dilated to the pupils barely being visible, and how glassy his eyes seemed to be.   
  
He pressed the glass to Harry's lips, and the boy drank from it easily enough, which meant that he was cogent enough to understand what Severus had said and that his throat had not closed up. Both reasonably good signs, by Snape's estimation.   
  
After Harry had taken a few gulps, Snape set the glass aside. "Too much at one time could make you thoroughly ill."   
  
"'m already th-th-th-thoroughly ill," Harry replied, his voice very small and very hoarse.   
  
"I'm quite aware of that," Severus assured him. "Believe me, I'm quite aware. But we needn't make the situation even worse." Admittedly, the only way it could get worse in his mind was if Poppy did not show up, and soon.   
  
The vacant look Harry gave him before nodding his assent was positively disturbing. When next he opened his mouth to speak, though, his voice was just a little more steady. "Where's Si-Sirius?"   
  
"Grimmauld Place," Severus said, doing an admirable job of hiding his anger at the mention of that name.   
  
"P-professor Lup-p-pin?"   
  
"Gone to fetch Madame Pomfrey."   
  
This answer only seemed to agitate Harry. "Wh-what? Why?" He looked around him, his eyes widening ever so slightly. "Where am I?"   
  
Oh God. If Poppy didn't make an appearance soon, Snape was sure he'd... Well, he wasn't exactly sure what he'd do, as now Harry's condition disconcerted him more than it annoyed him, but he was quite sure he'd do it. It likely involved going insane and ripping his hair out.   
  
He was very careful to let none of this show on his face or in his voice. The last thing he needed, right after Poppy not showing up, was a hysterical Boy-Who-Lived on his hands. "You're thoroughly ill, Harry. You're in the hospital wing soaking to bring down a fever. I'm almost certain you're hallucinating or delirious."   
  
Gingerly, he brushed Harry's forehead and was very unhappy to feel that his temperature was remaining steady. For good measure, he dropped a few ice cubes into the water to keep it only lukewarm. "If this keeps up, I might have to go track her down myself."   
  
Given their years of enmity toward each other, it was quite a shock to Severus when Harry very nearly leapt out of the tub to grab ahold of him. "N-no!" After a moment, he said much more quietly, "No. Dun... Don't wanna d-die alone."   
  
Very, very carefully, Snape extricated himself from Potter's grasp, though he couldn't for the life of him get the boy to release his sleeve. He sighed and let it go for the moment. "We've been over this before, Potter. You are not going to die. You're sick, I'll give you that, but every effort is being made to ensure that you keep drawing breath."   
  
It seemed that, despite the edge of annoyance that crept into Severus's voice, that answer satisfied Potter, at least enough for him to stop staring vacantly at his professor. It wasn't enough to make him loosen his grip on the sleeve, but Severus was willing to deal with that as long as Potter had no more fits of hysterics.   
  
This was how Madame Pomfrey and Professor Lupin found them a few minutes later, and one look at Harry kept them from asking questions. Once the boy caught sight of Remus, he let Snape go; and Snape went quite gladly.   
  
Once he was back in the dungeons, he noticed that there was a note waiting for him next to the list of potions. To it was affixed the thorn, and it bore Professor Sprout's somewhat spastic script. Feeling a surge of elation, Snape eagerly read the letter (twice), before smiling happily and crossing all but one potion off the list. The remaining name was "arescoi," a bastardization of one of the many Latin words for "wither."   
  
Feeling positively pleased with himself, Snape sat in one of the chairs and basked in the glow of having unravelled the mystery. All that was left was to determine what in Merlin's name the dragon's blood was for, and then they could ensure that Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived... Again.   
  
It suddenly occurred to him that he must inform Dumbledore of his new revelation, so he jumped up, grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and quite smugly told the headmaster that he had a fair idea of what potion it was, and that if he was needed, he'd be sleeping in his chambers for the next fourty-eight hours.   
  
**TBC**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** I'd just like to take this time to note that this is a WIP. While I've had some people beta read it, I appreciate your feedback lots. :) I'm pretty sure I patched up one of the plotholes a reviewer mentioned, but feel free to mention one that I may have missed.  
  
Thanks to **Kristin**, who pointed out the plothole; I'd meant to explain that but it got glossed over. However, the explanation has been included. Thanks also to the rest of my reviewers and to my beta readers.   
  
**Watching Me Fall**  
by dora   
  
Severus Snape had overestimated the amount of time he would be asleep by a good factor of twelve. Around two in the afternoon, he woke at the insistence of his stomach (which he had completely neglected since dinner on Friday). Grudgingly he got up and went in search of some strong tea and perhaps a few buttered rolls. Unfortunately, he only got as far as the tea before someone knocked frantically on his door.   
  
"For the sake of my sanity and your life, stop that infernal knocking and let yourself in!" he called, loading each word with as much venom as he could. When he saw who was standing in the entrance to his chambers, he wished he could have loaded on just a little bit more.   
  
Although, a second look at Professor Lupin revealed that he was _not_ in the mood for the potions master's sniping. If it weren't near the new moon, Severus would likely have sworn that Lupin was undergoing his transformation.   
  
"Severus Snape," he growled quite uncharacteristically, "your presence has been requested in the hospital wing _immediately._" Despite being tired and famished, Snape nodded. He was not about to provoke a rabid-seeming werewolf.   
  
The walk was brisk, and they arrived at the hospital wing in a matter of minutes. The place was far from empty; a cursory head count revealed there to be no less than six Weasleys (the girl, Ron, the twins, and the parents at the very least), Hermione Granger, Madame Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore, and...   
  
And one Sirius Black.   
  
"Who, pray tell," Severus began, keeping his voice dangerously calm, "invited the fleabag?"   
  
The entire group erupted into shouting with the possible exceptions of Miss Granger, Dumbledore, and Black himself. After a few moments, Dumbledore made a grand show of clearing his throat, and everyone went quiet once more.   
  
"Harry is not doing well, Severus," Albus said evenly, "so Professor Lupin and I saw fit to invite Sirius to stay with him and comfort him."   
  
Snape fixed Dumbledore with a cold stare. "And how 'not well' is 'not doing well?'"   
  
"'Not well' enough that we saw fit to call Sirius here," he replied gravely. That was not an answer Severus Snape particularly wanted to hear.   
  
"If the victim of the arescoi poison survives the first two or three days, the poison will generally work its way out of the victim's system," he mumbled to himself. At that point, he thought he might kick himself for being so negligent; there was one factor he'd forgotten to consider which would affect how the poison worked. "Albus, could you walk with me, just for a bit?" He pointedly ignored the glares with which Lupin and several of the Weasleys were trying to kill him.   
  
"Of course."   
  
Once outside, Severus made a bee-line for the dungeons. "I fear I am not quite current on the twelve uses of dragon's blood. I don't believe that it was actually part of the poison itself, so its purpose must be one of the twelve that are already known."   
  
When they arrived at the particular dungeon he'd used yesterday, Snape unlocked the door and let Dumbledore follow him in. "One of the reasons it only has twelve uses is because it's relatively inert, and I'm almost certain there is nothing in the arescoi that could possibly react with it. So it must be there simply as an additive."   
  
"That is entirely possible, my boy," Albus agreed after some consideration. "All right, what uses do you know?"   
  
"I know that it can be used as a buffer or diluting agent in most potions which react poorly to water," Snape said, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "That is the only use I've ever had for it in my lesson plans or my personal studies."   
  
"Aah. Use number eight." Dumbledore sighed and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I will do my best to keep this brief."   
  
"Yes, please."   
  
And so, Dumbledore went through each use, one by one, until they reached use number seven. "Dragon's blood can be used as a sort of binding agent. It's very... er, sticky, for lack of a better word."   
  
Severus's face lit up. "That's it!"   
  
"Really?"   
  
Snape nodded. "Arescoi should not stay in a person's system as long as it's been in Potter's. The dragon's blood would explain that, if it bound the poison to his innards such that it could not be flushed out."   
  
Dumbledore considered this. "Brilliant. So what are you going to do?"   
  
"Brew a potion to save Potter's miserable life. A strong expurgant should do." He gave Dumbledore a very sour look. "Now go tell everyone else before they form a lynch mob. If you like, you can administer one of Poppy's weaker expurgant potions to loosen things up, as it were."   
  
"It shall be done," Dumbledore said. "Please hurry."   
  
The potions master glared fiercely at the headmaster. "I would be brewing more quickly without someone to distract me." Dumbledore did not bother to respond; he simply left the dungeon and closed the door behind him.   
  
It took until shortly after three o'clock to finish the potion, twelve hours into the whole fiasco. He did not bother to let the potion cool too much before he bottled it, only enough that it wouldn't scald Potter's throat when he drank it. Then he decided that it would be best to simply use the internal floo network to get back to the hospital wing.   
  
A few moments later, Snape emerged from one of the fireplaces only a little sootier for the trip, and he saw, much to his relief, that most of the crowd had dispersed. It seemed now that only Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Lupin, and Black kept vigil. Harry, himself, looked absolutely miserable, as he was doubled over a basin and caught by some terrible dry heaves. Lupin dozed in one of the chairs and Black sat behind the boy, muttering calm things and keeping his hair out of his face. Dumbledore and Pomfrey stood to either side, both looking horribly drawn.   
  
"What has he been doing?" Snape asked as he approached the bed.   
  
"It's pretty bloody obvious what he's been doing, you bastard," Sirius growled. For the moment, the potions master chose to let that go, instead giving Albus his full attention.   
  
"Not terribly much," the headmaster confessed. "There was a little bit of what seemed to be phlegm at first, but now, nothing."   
  
Severus peered at the contents of the basin and nodded. "Perfect." He turned his focus to Harry, who was, at the moment, favoring him with a most pitiable gaze. His eyes were once again dilated, and now they were red from the tears brought on by the heaves. What made it worse was that Snape could almost see the fever-induced delirium which clouded them.   
  
He sighed and pulled out the bottle, making sure to let Harry have a very good look at it. "If you take what's in this bottle, I can almost guarantee that you will feel better. But you will have what may be one of the worst hours of your life before then."   
  
Harry seemed to understand; he nodded and made a feeble attempt to take the bottle from Severus. Unwilling to risk the boy spilling it, Snape uncorked it and tipped the entire contents into Harry's mouth. For a moment it seemed that Harry might spit it back out or choke on it, but Snape fixed him with a steely glare. "Swallow the damn thing, Potter. If you don't I will give it to you through a tube."   
  
Even though Sirius gave him a look which promised bloody murder, Severus's 'encouragement' seemed to work. In three swallows, the entire potion was in his stomach, and in five more minutes it went to work.   
  
It took a few heaves, but Harry soon began to regurgitate a thick, sickly purple concoction which could only have been the remains of the modified arescoi poison. The sheer violence of it had the boy groaning in pain between heaves, and Lupin finally had to be woken so he could sit with the boy while Albus kept Sirius from killing Snape.   
  
This continued for at least thirty minutes, until it finally seemed there was no more poison in Harry's system. There were a few more dry heaves just for good measure, but it was done with. The boy hardly looked better, in fact he looked a fair sight worse, but his eyes had cleared just a little bit, and he no longer seemed to be shivering from imagined cold. "Water," he croaked, and the two dogs tripped over themselves to oblige him.   
  
Severus simply removed the basin from Harry's lap and took it to the back where it might be cleaned. Or perhaps 'scoured' was a better word for what the basin would need. Either way, it didn't particularly matter. Snape's work was done, and he planned on eating at least one meal and then retiring to his bed for the next twenty or so hours.   
  
Just before he was about to walk out the door, the headmaster caught up with him. "Severus, my dear boy, good work."   
  
Snape was far too tired and irritable to use tact. "What do you want from me now?"   
  
"While it seems Harry will be coming out of the woods soon enough, there are still a few questions that need answering," Dumbledore said, completely ignoring Snape's lack of social graces.   
  
It was hard to suppress the groan that rose in his throat. "Such as?"   
  
"The most pressing is simply, 'What are the effects of long-term exposure to arescoi poison?'" Snape had a sinking feeling in his gut that this particular question was aimed at him. However, Dumbledore continued, "The next is merely a formality; who would want to do such a thing? And, this is the most important, how in Merlin's name did the guilty party actually succeed in poisoning him?"   
  
"I hope you weren't expecting me to know the answers off the top of my head."   
  
Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, no, of course not. But I think it would be best to begin our investigations as soon as possible. After dinner, if possible, tomorrow morning at the very latest."   
  
He didn't bother suppressing the groan this time. "Where would you like to meet after dinner?"   
  
The headmaster seemed thoughtful for a few moments, then he said, "Here will do just fine."   
  
Snape nodded. "Fine. I'm going to go eat now."   
  
"That's a fine idea," Albus agreed. "You look as if a meal would do you good."   
  
The muscle under Snape's right eye twitched as he walked back to his chambers.   
  
---   
  
The prospect of food was imminently more fulfilling than the meal itself. Severus found himself far too tired and aggravated to enjoy the buttered rolls (which had gotten cold since he last attempted to eat them) or the porridge which he'd had brought to his chambers. However, his stomach seemed content to have something in it, so he was not inclined to complain.   
  
Now that he'd had at least one meal in the past eighteen hours, Severus once again struck out for the hospital wing. It occured to him that he could simply floo there, but he discarded the idea rather quickly. He had the distinct impression that he would _not_ like what was about to be discussed, and he had no intention of rushing to his impending doom.   
  
Unfortunately, the walk was far shorter than he would've liked, and the number of people who'd already gathered did not bode well. It seemed like the entire Order had gathered around Potter's bed, though a second glance revealed that only Moody was new to the gathering, all but one of the Weasleys had dispersed, and that annoying Granger girl seemed to have gone with them.   
  
Once Dumbledore noticed that Severus had entered, he smiled brightly. "Ah, I was beginning to wonder if perhaps you'd gotten lost."   
  
Snape grimaced. "If only I had been so lucky," he mumbled, shaking his head and none-too-happily approaching the group. Already that twinge that had been lurking near the bridge of his nose was starting to grow, but he refused to add a headache to his list of 'Things I Would Like to Hex into Next Year.' So, he ignored it and favored Dumbledore with an acid glare. "Well?"   
  
"Ah, yes. So far, Harry seems to be doing a little better. His temperature has fallen perhaps a degree since you left, and he seems to be sleeping peacefully." Albus nodded at the bed in which, indeed, Potter was tucked in and snoring slightly.   
  
"That's not what I meant," Severus ground out through clenched teeth. The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes made clear that he knew exactly what Snape had been asking about-- and chose to ignore it.   
  
While he didn't particularly want to add a headache to his list of things to hex mercilessly, the potions master was not quite adverse to adding a thoroughly annoying and enigmatic headmaster. However, he managed to reign in his righteous annoyance before he said anything Black might try to make him regret.   
  
"Indeed," Dumbledore replied coolly. "Well, I was just taking the time to explain the situation to Mister Moody. Your timing is actually quite impeccable, because I was just finishing up. Now we can move on to the issues at hand." He indicated a chair next to the paranoid Auror. "Please, have a seat."   
  
"No, thank you, Headmaster. I would rather stand."   
  
"As you wish. Gumdrop?" Dumbledore extended a pouch filled with the sweets.   
  
It was then that Severus determined that the headmaster was bent on driving him insane. "Please, could we just discuss what we came to discuss?"   
  
"I agree," said Remus, glancing briefly at Harry before turning his attention to Albus. "I don't imagine we'll have much time before the culprit finds out that he or she has failed and makes another attempt. We should use what we have wisely."   
  
"Yes," Dumbledore said with a nod. "That brings us to one of the subjects I wished to address: what are we to do with Harry until this mystery has been solved? It's certain that whoever poisoned him will have heard of his illness, and because of this, I do not believe keeping him here would be a good idea." He smiled apologetically at Madame Pomfrey. "Of course, I do not mean to question your abilities, Poppy, but this is likely the first place someone who wished to ensure that Harry dies would look for him."   
  
Judging by the expression on her face, Poppy Pomfrey did not at all like this idea. "With all due respect, it seems very unwise to move him before he's made a full recovery. I don't feel comfortable with the idea of simply letting him go without proper supervision. And I like the idea of abandoning the rest of the student body even less."   
  
"I'd be happy to have him back at Grimmauld Place," Sirius interjected. "I know I'm no Poppy Pomfrey, but my first aid isn't shabby, either."   
  
"Actually, I hadn't planned to move him from school grounds." By the way that Dumbledore was stroking his beard, Severus knew that the axe was about to fall. "I've given this a fair bit of thought. As Poppy said, it would hardly be fair to the rest of the students if we moved him someplace not at least in the vicinity of Hogwarts and deprived them of her skills. However, I am also unwilling to let Harry go without proper supervision."   
  
Sirius seemed skeptical. "What are you planning to do with him, then?"   
  
It seemed that the answer pleased Dumbledore immensely, at least judging by the grin on his face. Snape cringed. "There is only one person in this room who has more knowledge of the poison used and its effects than Poppy."   
  
Oh no.   
  
"I intend, for the moment, to transfer Harry to Severus's rooms, at least until we find out more of what's going on."   
  
Two indignant shouts of, "_What?!_" rose to either side of him (one from Sirius and one from Severus), but Dumbledore brushed them off with the shake of his head.   
  
"Please, calm yourselves, lest you wake the boy," Madame Pomfrey hissed. The unspoken threat of pain should that happen hung in the air, and it was enough to keep either Black or Snape from saying anything further. They decided instead to glare daggers at the headmaster.   
  
"This will only be a temporary arrangement," Albus continued as though neither man had interrupted. "However, until we have a good idea of who might have poisoned Harry, I think it best that he stay with Severus. He is the only one among us, with the possible exception of Alastor, who has enough knowledge of potions and poisons to have any chance of halting any more such attempts on Harry's life." His attention shifted to the Auror. "Speaking of which, may I have a word with you, Alastor?"   
  
Moody gave a curt nod.   
  
Albus smiled. "Wonderful. Sirius, I believe it would be best that you return home. Remus, once I've finished speaking with Alastor, I would like to discuss which of us should take over Severus's classes. Poppy, I apologize for having to go against your judgement, but I feel this is for the best."   
  
It took a moment for Severus to proccess Albus's words, and once he did, it took every ounce of his self control to keep him from hexing the man into next year then and there. He was very pleased with himself when he opened his mouth and a reasonably polite, "I beg your pardon?" came out, rather than the curses (both verbal and magical) he'd been thinking.   
  
"I can hardly expect you to give Harry your full attention and teach classes," Dumbledore said. "Therefore I will relieve you of your instructing duties until the situation is closer to being under control. Now, why don't you go prepare an extra bed for Harry? It shouldn't be too long before we move him."   
  
Indeed, Snape thought to himself, there was no rest for the wicked. It did not help that the next thing he added to his list of things to hex was a terrible nervous tic near his right eye.   
  
**TBC**


End file.
